


prévenance

by Anonymous



Category: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 15:04:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20726177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He would do anything for Theodore Decker.





	prévenance

This is how it begins:

“My dad thinks we’re screwing,” Theo announces with a giggle. “Can you believe that?”

Boris can believe that, since not even ten hours ago he had Theo’s dick in his palm, pumping him until he came with a tiny, warbled cry. He can believe it because it has already happened, and he wishes Theo wouldn’t pretend otherwise. But Boris isn’t in the mood to argue with him today.

“He tried to give me condoms,” Theo continues, “as if one of us could get pregnant!”

Boris hums. “Could give each other a disease. You know, like herpes or...I forget the name, the one where it burns when you piss? Those kind.”

“I don’t have any STDs,” Theo says, suddenly serious and no longer giggling. “And I don’t think you do, either. Not that it matters anyway, since we aren’t screwing.”

English semantics kill Boris. Perhaps jerking each other off doesn’t count as screwing. He will have to consult Kotku on this.

“I could have something,” Boris says. He takes a slug of lukewarm beer. “Kotku doesn’t make me wear a rubber all the time. And I am not her first boyfriend.”

Theo gapes at him.

“Aren’t you worried about her getting pregnant?”

Boris is more worried about the headache that is slowly creeping behind his eyes. “Yes. No? I pull out, Potter, Jesus.”

Theo goes silent. The television groans infomercial bullshit about some magical detergent, and Boris thinks he ought to leave for the day. Kotku is probably waiting for him to call, and Theo is in one of his Moods. Boris will never admit that Theo scares him sometimes with his mercurial emotions that ping-pong from exuberant to suicidal. It reminds Boris so much of his own father that his neck prickles with unease.

“Would you pull out with me?” Theo suddenly asks. His voice is reedy and rushed, like Boris balled his fist and socked him one hard time in the gut.

Boris no longer feels buzzed. He feels startlingly, horribly sober, and he lurches up from his sprawl on the carpet so fast that the room spins. Popper yips at his ankle before scampering out the living room. Boris is glad. This conversation is too private and adult for puppy ears.

Theo bites his bottom lip and blinks at Boris from his perch on the loveseat, looking young and so-very innocent, as if he didn’t just knock the world off its axis. Looking at Potter now is like looking at that painting hidden under the bed, a little mesmerizing and a little spooky.

(in his mind, potter and that bird are one in the same: both chained forever, unable to escape. the bird from his canvas, theo from his grief)

  
  


“If we actually screwed,” Theo mumbles, as if Boris needs clarification. His cheeks are dusted pink and his glasses sit crooked on his nose. He’s so cute, so needy. Boris (stupidly) wants to take care of him, wants to scoop the pain from Theo’s chest and peel the anger from his skin.

“Would you want me to?” Boris asks. “To come inside?

Theo hunches his shoulders to his ears. “I don’t know.”

“It would be...messy,” Boris thinks aloud. “But I would clean you after.”

That makes Theo squirm. “You’d wash me down there?”

“I do Kotku with my mouth, only fair to do the same for you.”

“Okay...” Theo trails off. “Noted.”

And before Boris can go into detail on how he would lap at Theo’s hole until he begged for Boris to stop, how he would kiss the tender skin there without fuss for hours, Theo slumps over and starts to snore.

It sounds like a death rattle. Boris might think Potter was faking if he hadn’t seen his own father pass out that quickly after a bender. He shuffles over and plucks Potter’s glasses off and sets them on the coffee table.

Just like the handjobs and the secret kisses, they will never talk about this again.

Until Antwerp, that is

X

“You have three kids,” Theo says, awed. “That’s crazy. I can’t imagine.”

Boris shrugs. He loves his children but they are like moons that orbit far away. He knows they exist, but they are forever out of his reach, and so often out of mind.

“Yes. Three bouncy bundles of joy. None for you ever, Potter?”

“No.” Resolute with no indication of remorse. “I never want kids.”

“Ah,” Boris says. “That’s the new millennial attitude I hear.”

Theo shrugs. “Hobie warned me I might regret it later in life. That I would miss out on that love... but you know...” Here his voice croaks, “The Goldfinch was like a child to me. I cared about it’s well-being more than my own. I loved it despite the headaches and heartache it brought. So I think I’ve experienced that love. I don’t need it again.”

This is all too maudlin for Boris. They were supposed to be drinking wine and shooting the shit before busting out the Loratabs for a good night's sleep. Leave it to Theo to make things serious.

Boris racks his brain for something funny to lighten the mood, but comes up with nothing. Thankfully, Theo shakes his head and grins until his lips pull thin over his teeth.

“You obviously never perfected your pull-out game,” he teases. “Three kids, Boris. Damn.”

A memory of Vegas emerges shyly from the haze of his lingering buzz. Theo and his whispered question, the way his lashes fluttered when Boris answered.

“If I recall,” Boris murmurs, leaning over the table, “you once asked if I would pull out with you. Now you know your answer. I’m no good, Potter. I never pull out.”

Theo’s grin wobbles, then settles into a soft pout. He shifts in his seat and sips his wine with forced nonchalance.

“You remember that, huh?”

“How could I forget? It became my go-to fantasy when I jerked off. Which was frequent back in Vegas, mind you.”

Theo’s blush creeps down his neck. Boris waits for him to be brave, to jump across the table and break the wine glasses, to finally bring their lips together in a satiny kiss.

Like always, Theo has a better idea.

“Bed?” he asks.

X

“I was tested last month,” Boris gasps, shuddering as Potter kisses down his neck and chest. “With the needles and all, I just wanted to be sure. I don’t share, but who can remember—ah!— all the time?”

Theo ignores him in favor of biting his left nipple. He suckles for a moment, then rests his cheek against Boris’s heart, listening.

“I’m clean,” Theo mumbles, “because I’ve only ever been with Kitsy. And she always made me wear something. Said birth control made her crazy. So...”

Boris flips them over so Theo is beneath him. His bangs are disheveled over his tiny forehead, and Boris robs him of his glasses before he can protest. Without them on, Theo looks impossibly boyish and young. Boris licks his lips. In Theo’s ear he murmurs, “Well, there will be nothing on you tonight. I want you to feel  _ everything _ .”

X

Boris expected Theo to be a dead fish in bed, but Theo is surprisingly attentive. He kisses Boris until their lips tingle, and scratches Boris’s back when he grinds their hips together. He arches and keens, whispers sweet nothings that make Boris blush. He even slips a soft “I love you” as Boris licks his cock. But what really sets Boris off is the way that Theo practically shouts when he slips a finger past the furled pucker between his legs.

The complimentary hotel lotion smells like cheap vanilla, but it makes the sweetest squelching sound as he teases Theo with gentle prodding. When Boris finally sinks inside himself, Theo clings to his neck and whimpers, thighs trembling around Boris’s hips.

“I’ve wanted to do this forever,” Boris tells him honestly, holding still for Theo to adjust. “I think about you all the time.”

“M-me too,” Potter says. “I was so jealous of Kotku, you know? Because she got you this way and I didn’t.”

Boris rocks his hips gently. “Well, now you know. You have me.”

Theo groans and wiggles his hips. “I just feel so...full.”

It’s permission enough for Boris. He starts to move and Potter comes alive beneath him, pushing back, whispering, “Right there, no, there”. He pulls Boris’s hair, kisses his lips, cheek, whatever he can reach. And Boris jerks him in tandem with his thrusts, muttering “Good boy, my sweet boy, Potter. ”

“Call me Theodore,” Theo demands, bucking into Boris’s hand. “I’m so close, please.”

Boris pistons his hips faster. “Theodore. Theodore. God, I’ve missed you so much. _Theodore_.”

Theo comes in his fist with a satisfied cry, and Boris follows him, groaning. He feels punch drunk and delirious with happiness, like he could die with no regrets. When he pulls out, a pearly rivulet leaks down and stains the sheets. Boris smirks despite himself. He rolls off Theo and gives his--friendsoulmatelover-- time to breathe.

Five minutes, ten minutes, twenty. Boris thinks that Theo fell asleep, so content he could not resist the welcoming darkness behind his eyelids. But then Theo turns to look at Boris with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Back in Vegas, you said you’d clean me with your mouth. Remember?”

Boris smiles wickedly.

“Oh yes, Theodore. I remember.”

And then he quickly sets to work fulfilling his promise. Because like always—

He would do anything for Theodore Decker.

X

end.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! Might un-anon myself at a later date...until then, I hope you enjoyed this smutty little fic.


End file.
